


Saline and Other Stories

by anniesburg



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Kelpien biology, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Prehensile dick, So fucking awkward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniesburg/pseuds/anniesburg
Summary: And the lort said, let there be more token alien / reader content. A series of disjointed one-off stories that involve Saru and his romance with a stubborn ship doctor.





	1. Saline

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my tumblr, this is just a sporadically updated excuse for me to unapologetically love the anxious beanpole.

 

You watch the salt granules fall to the bottom of his mug, curious if only because the sight is so novel in its unassuming rarity.

There’s a moment of confused silence on your end, no conversation taking root as you try to process the fact that Saru just put salt in his tea. Salt. Your face contorts just slightly but the thought of seeming rude or judgemental bothers you more than his palette.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll ever forget how you take your tea.” Your joke isn’t very funny, you’re aware but Saru nevertheless offers up a slight smile in response. He knows how to keep your confidence from nosediving, silently telling you all is well. “Is that a Kelpien custom?”

Seemingly satisfied with how long his drink has steeped, he doesn’t remove the teabag before taking a sip, shaking his head.

“It’s just how I like it.” Is his plain response, one that leaves you feeling incredibly stupid and yet somehow let down easy. Personal taste, he can have that. Shame on you for not considering it, you think.

“Sorry, my Kelpien knowledge is a little rusty. If you wanted to pull my leg and tell me you subsisted entirely off of salty, green tea and blueberries I’d probably believe you.” His smile returns and the glass of his mug hits the top of the table with a dainty thud.

“Anything related to my species, especially biology is an unpopular field of study.” He summarizes years of poking and prodding by the rare specialist with practiced ease and grace. You haven’t any idea of this, but your interest is piqued all the same.

“Biology?” A lift of your brow and your eyes dart up and down his lanky torso with an attempt at comical exuberance. He seems less than amused, more embarrassed by this specificity. “I’m teasing you, Saru!” You exclaim.

His response is to straighten his back just a touch. For a moment, you wonder if he’s reconsidering that permission to use first names off of the bridge. But calling you doctor seems to be less of a gut instinct on his part, perhaps he isn’t.

“I noticed. It seems to be a favourite pastime of yours.” It’s a beat before you’re made painfully aware of the lilt to his voice, he’s teasing you back. A grin curls up on your mouth and you look down at what’s left of your own, sweet cup of tea.

“Old habits. But, if you wanted to give me a crash course on your race’s biology, I wouldn’t refuse—”  and how quickly you can shift from gentle mockery to flirtation.

His opinion on your good impression of him is a mystery to you to some extent. You’d discussed boundaries at one point, late one night under the pretence of lending each other books. Saru is reserved, has been for as long as you’d known him and had agreed that first names, as well as the occasional remark would sit somewhat comfortably with him. He didn’t expect so many compliments on his eyes, but as of yet he’s failed to file a complaint.

You resist the urge to giggle as the subject of your affections struggles to swallow at that. You almost feel bad. Go on, you urge him without voicing it, blush. You’ve wanted to see what he looks like, but again he evades you.

“Your interest strays a touch too far from purely academic. Explaining that would compromise my morals.” How he manages to sound detached in an empty cafeteria is anyone’s guess.

You finished the last of whats in your mug, rising from the table and picking up your dish-ware. Saru looks down at his own cup before he gives in, his eyes following you. A smile on your face, you come to stand behind him.

“I’m going to go, but you should tag along. My room’s quieter. The fluorescent lights don’t sing quite as loudly.” It’s almost the truth, although the hum of the engine pervades every nook on this ship.

He flinches minutely as you’d place your hands on his shoulders. Looking towards the door, just to be certain, you find the hallway empty enough to press a hesitant kiss to the top of his head. You feel him tense and relax. Another kiss, lower this time and nearer to his neck.

“Come with me, Saru. I’ll lend you a book.” He leans away before you can kiss him again, motioning for you to move so he can stand. Picking up his tea, he unfolds his legs from underneath the table. One of these days they’ll have to make something Kelpien-sized for him— his knees must be screaming.

“A book?” He asks, the matter-of-factness to his tone slipping into a nervousness you’re too familiar with. You nod, your face falling from an impish smirk to something infinitely more serious.

“We had a very interesting conversation over books the last time, didn’t we?” He looks about ready to huff in embarrassment again, so you cut him off. “If you didn’t like it, commander, you have to tell me.” You decide to pour that serious look in your eyes into your tone with desirable results.

“Saru,” he begins, your eyes flutter up, up, _up_. “It takes getting used to, but I would like you to call me by my name. It’s just that I—” Saru seems unable to put to words the depth of his anxiety. Instead of putting words in his mouth, you cover your hand with his.

“You don’t have to go anywhere with me. We can stay here.” He surprises you with a shake of his head.

“This is too public a forum.” He states. The surprises continue when his hand curves around yours, giving it a squeeze. “Lead. I will follow.”

Dropping his hand for fear of difficult questions, you walk slightly ahead of Saru out of the cafeteria and down the hallway. The door to your quarters, when you arrive slides open with a delicate hiss.

It looks lived in, your room, a touch often lacking in the rigid apartments afforded Star Fleet officers. The cool, grey colour palette is relaxing. Nevertheless, your bed is dotted with knitted throw pillows and a waist-high bookshelf sits demurely in the corner of the room.

The presence of your bookshelf is a farce, an inside joke that the shelf still exists despite the objects used to fill it rapidly decreasing in number. You own six physical books, five covers bound in leather and deeply respected. One is a paperback, the pages yellowed with age.

You don’t bother to look and see if Saru’s followed you into the room. Almost certain that he has, you pluck the paperback off the shelf. The door shuts. You turn and he’s standing there as if unsure of how to organize his limbs in a casual setting.

The game begins as you hold out the book to him. There’s a practical reason for him being here, a logical one. Burnham would be proud. Saru takes it from you.

“Dance Hall of the Dead?” He asks, turning the book over in his hands as he perches on the end of your sofa. To your delight, you didn’t have to ask him to sit. He seems interested, at least. You sit down next to him.

“Mystery novel, it’s part of a series. I have them all on my PADD but that’s the only physical copy I could find. They’re set in Arizona” Tilting your head just a touch, you watch Saru read the summary before his eyes find yours again. “Have you ever been?”

He scoffs now, without you to stop him. The sound is markedly different, you note. There isn’t a touch of annoyance, only humour that doesn’t quite reach your understanding. He still looks amused when he speaks to explain.

“I’ve only ever been to earth for Starfleet.” His clarification makes sense and you find yourself smiling back at him.

“Then you have to borrow that book. It’s— Arizona is—” now you struggle to find the words, Saru looks surprised with the turn the conversation is taking. Your desire to flirt, to touch is momentarily sidestepped by trying to explain something dear to you.

“Tell me about it.” He compels, leaning forward a bit.

“There are mountains that still take my breath away, sometimes more than a new galaxy.” Tilting your head up, your grin is the most genuine you’ve ever smiled. “And humans weren’t made to climb them. They’re beautiful and they’re not to be conquered.” Maybe that’s why you joined Star Fleet, so that your world and the ones light years away could be seen and adored without needing to kneel.

Saru draws in your faraway gaze with a pointed look, one that speaks of a real understanding that has never been so close before.

“What’s your home like?” You ask, mesmerized when that understanding doesn’t fade.

“I remember it,” he begins and there is no wonder in his voice. “there are no mountains, only caves sprawling under the planet’s surface. A necessary precaution to ensure survival was to live in them.” Biting on your lip, you say nothing. “Nevertheless, I have never found a planet with that sense of peace— nostalgic peace, mind you. There was nothing inherently peaceful about it.”

Without thinking, you lean forward as well. Your hand touching his knee, you silently reassure him that it’s fine if he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I have fond memories of home, but humans seem to have a special brand of rose-colour in the lenses of their glasses.” His smile is sincere once again and you match it. Sadness seems to cling to him now, something he can’t shake.

“The last thing I wanted to do was upset you, Saru.” He nods.

“And I, truly, am not.” He looks down at your hand, so very different from his. “It’s not often I think of it, most never ask. I have _seen_ boundless human curiosity— and then I’ve seen yours.”

There’s a softness to his eyes, a gentle humour that you’re finally able to place. A blush colours your cheeks a soft pink and your hand on his knee _squeezes_.

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” You all but sputter. “Because curiosity is— a point of pride with me. There’s so much to learn and—” realizing you’re bordering on a tangent of the abstract beauty of life-in-general, you also choose to spare him.

You inch along the sofa towards him, half-feeling like a child. Your left knee bumps his right as you angle yourself towards him. The sudden invasion of personal space doesn’t set him on edge the way it might’ve when you first met him. Contact with you, it seems, is a trusted action.

“Did you like it when I kissed you? Before—” you turn your head, looking to the door as if it will silently tell Saru you’re referring to the exchange in the cafeteria. He seems to understand your reference. “I don’t think I’ve ever done that before, and I didn’t ask—”

His hands rise, mesmerizing things that they are and you fall silent.

“Yes.” He replies. “I did like it. My experience with intimacy is limited but I’m learning—” now it’s his turn to stop as your expression shifts to confusion.

“Learning what?” Saru gives you a reassuring look.

“That what I want is attainable, both professionally and personally.” His hand settles on top of yours. “You know the purpose for my kind’s very creation but it isn’t _my_ purpose. Do you understand?” You nod with a surety that puts him at ease.

“So, you want me?” A coquettish tone never seems to stray from your speech for very long. To your delight, he doesn’t seem as annoyed by it.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Your blush reddens and you lean in as close as you can to him. Nearly afraid you’ll topple over at this angle, you press a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“In that sense?” You ask, your close proximity to him made a sustainable thing when Saru moves his hand from your knee to your waist. Your sigh is audible.

He doesn’t answer, but he does kiss you again. Gentleness seems to be the factor tying him to the spot. His knee underneath your hand nearly jumps with nervous tremors. His shaking unnerves you and instead you brace your hand on his cheek.

His skin is leather-like, firm to the touch and warmer than one might expect. A fluttering heart beats ecstatically against your ribcage, mirrored in him, as you press your chest to his.

The book you’re lending him is gently put to the side as you deepen the kiss. Saru’s alien arms fit around your human body like you were made with him in mind.

 


	2. Sub Rosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation about the Unpleasant Happening on Pahvo from the perspective of someone who never got to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is set right after episode eight because you’ll pry the saru-centric episode from my icy clutches.

You held his hand one evening, your fingers lacing through his. Replicator wine hasn’t a hope in hell of being as good as the real thing, but its presence is more atmospheric than anything. You made him promise never to end up in your sickbay, to always be as cautious as he tends towards. You squeezed his hand gently and the look of discomfort on his face shifted to understanding. He nodded, you would never see him there.

Saru is nearly unresponsive as he’s escorted into sickbay. Two cadets support him as he blinks, slowly and tries to adjust to the harsh light. He looks distant, uncomfortably vacant and detached. He’s grieving but you don’t know what, don’t know how to help beyond flying into action and sending the cadets scurrying. You put his arm around your shoulder, yours going to his waist as you help him into one of the biobeds.

 Michael Burnham and Ash Tyler trail behind, tense looks on their faces. They walk in on their own but it’s clear to both you and Culber that they’re worse for wear. What happened on that goddamn planet? You wonder as you look down at Saru. He flinches when you touch his shoulder, something you thought he’d outgrown. 

Culber appears in your peripheral vision, watching you struggle to find the best way to begin treatment. Looking up at him, he turns his head in the direction of Burnham. She’s lying down on another biobed, looking visibly distressed and stealing glances towards Tyler. Gritting your teeth, you give Saru a fond look before walking away. 

Burnham’s got scrapes across her knees and elbows, a mark on her cheek that will thankfully fade soon enough. Her injuries, however, seem to permeate her skin and sink deep into her bones. She looks to both Ash and Saru with equal guilt and exhaustion. 

Tyler is in a similar state, but perhaps something worse happened to him. As you unzip the outer coat of his uniform, you gasp when you find five bruises— the same size as Kelpien fingerprints. 

Saru is still unresponsive but it’s become clear that it isn’t due to anything life threatening. He watches you, you notice as you pull Culber to the side to discuss the bruising on Tyler’s neck. Giving him a look you hope is reassuring, your heart sinks when he looks away from you. 

There’s a palpable malaise in the air, a difficult energy that keeps you from asking out loud _what in the hell_ went wrong. You’re afraid to find out, you realize, worried out of your mind that the answer will be more terrible than the silence. 

Finally, something breaks. Burnham stands up from the biobed after you’ve discharged her and walks over to Saru. He seems disoriented, depressed and exhausted. 

You fight the urge to listen as you’re tasked to run diagnostics on Tyler. Inclining your head towards the conversation, you overhear things you wish you didn’t have to think about. Looking to Ash, he seems just as disturbed.

“The noise from the planet was bothering him. We made first contact, so to speak and—” he says, quiet enough that only you hear. “Then something changed, Saru said there was no need to complete the mission.” Tyler continues, your heart quickening in your chest. You look to Saru, who seems just as deeply upset as he did before. 

Tyler is released shortly after, leaving you and a handful of doctors to observe Saru. Culber seems ready to pile on the busywork, looking between you and the last remaining patient with barely-contained concern. 

The tentative relationship fostered between Saru and yourself is frankly the business of no one but if one person were to know, it’s likely Culber. You can understand the difficulty of it, it isn’t as if you have a stony demeanour. Your heart breaks every time you turn to see the person you’ve come to like in so much distress. 

Nevertheless, you’re reluctant to sit this out. Hugh mentions something about getting back to your research and you shake your head. It seems to take him by surprise. 

“No, doctor.” You say, fully prepared for the reprimand of your life. “What if it were Stamets?” That seems to give Culber pause and he looks at you for a moment with so much irritation that you half expect him to escort you from sickbay himself. Saru is in a delicate condition, you know, but you need to speak to him. 

Things take a shift in your favour when the defiance in your eyes turns to vulnerability. You’re no longer demanding him, you’re asking for a little time alone. With a sigh, Culber grants it to you. 

“We’ll talk later.” He says, brief but authoritative in the sense that you’re certain the two of you will. Culber walks past you, motioning for the other remaining doctor to follow. 

You’re left alone with Saru, but he doesn’t seem to notice immediately. With your back to him for a second, you’re able to collect your thoughts. Sighing, you turn and walk towards his biobed. You needn’t ask him to look at you, the way Burnham needed to but his eyes are so full of disappointment. 

It’s difficult to place it for a moment, until you remember what Tyler said. He’s disappointed in himself. His trust in his own ability to be safe, to be the voice of reason has failed. 

“You look exhausted,” you say, your voice lacking the rigid professionalism it adopts in sickbay. “how long have you been awake?” He’s hesitant to answer, but finally speaks the first words he’s said to you since he was beamed aboard.

“Forty-nine hours.” He says and you wince. Your hand goes to his shoulder again, an experimental gesture to find out where he stands. He doesn’t flinch away from you this time and your relief is electric.

“Saru—” you begin and he cuts you off with a look. “I know what happened.” You squeeze his shoulder, concern that extends _far_ beyond doctor-patient care burning behind your eyes. His eyes dart away from you and you’ll have none of it. Placing your hand under his chin, you guide his eyes back to yours. 

“I assumed you would be willing to make excuses for me,” you try to interject and he jerks his face away from your hand “don’t interrupt, I know that you care for me enough to do so.” His tone is frighteningly final. “But I didn’t expect the same from Burnham and Tyler.” 

You exhale and your arms fall back to your sides. So this is how he wants to play. 

“It sounds to me like they’re intelligent colleagues who understand the meaning of the word _compromised_.” You say. He doesn’t look at you. “You were compromised, Saru. You knew what you were doing but…” You trail off. “Would you do it again?” 

He looks shocked, but at least his eyes are on you again.

“No, never.” He says and you nod. 

“You apologized, Burnham and Tyler forgave you. You acted to preserve peace.” Your smile is four different colours of ironic. You’re slightly amazed you _can_ smile. “Humans have done worse for less, love.” 

He seems to resent that. 

“I was in the wrong.” He says and you nod again. 

“As we’ve established,” you reply, Saru seems to realize that you aren’t about to tear him limb from limb and goes quiet. “but I know _why_ you did it.”

You turn and sit on the edge of the biobed, your hand on his bicep. Your sudden closeness is not as jarring to him as you remember it once being. 

“I can’t begin to understand what your life feels like, Saru. When I’m near you, I don’t think I could feel afraid.” As if to illustrate your point, your fingers follow the long line of his arm until they reach his hand. 

“Regrettably, I have never felt such an effect.” He says, looking at your smaller hand holding his alien one. “Quite the opposite. I look at you and wonder how I can keep the both of us safe in a terrible war.” 

“What happened on Pahvo wasn’t about me.” And he nods at that, the tension seeming to leave him. He does not let go of your hand. 

“No, it was not. But for the first time in my life I felt— unburdened. I wanted to share that with you. I thought that if I could make Burnham understand…” 

“You wanted to hold on to peace, love. Nobody can blame you for that.” Saru still feels on edge, oddly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation is taking.

“Instead, I think I now understand better what happened on the Shenzhou.” His voice has a strength that, admittedly, takes you by surprise. Tilting your head just slightly, you invite him to explain. “Michael Burnham took so much from me, more than most ever need to take to rule out forgiveness permanently. I feel as if I better understand why she chose mutiny. She wanted peace, she made war.” 

Your face falls in a way that pries Saru from his deeply personal thoughts. As glad as you are that he is willing to share this with you, it feels like a knife in your chest. So much pain that you were not there to see, not there to help with. And you thought he’d healed— _idiot_. Now, it seems he might finally be able to move on. 

“I wanted peace, I could feel it for the first time and it almost lead to destruction.” He seems less inwardly hostile and you take it as a good sign. Inching just a little bit closer, you give his hand another squeeze. 

“I know, Saru. Hopefully this will instead lead to something better.” He closes his eyes for a moment, as if trying to recall what that harmony felt like. It evades him.

“I hope that as well.” He sounds better than he did, still upset with himself but unlikely to dismiss your worries now. 

“God, I’m just so glad you’re all right.” You mumble, your eyes coloured with fondness and relief that you’ve been repressing. “I was so worried, you have no idea. I had to beg Culber—” 

“I heard that. I would apologize for eavesdropping but it seems to be a human custom, or at least one that you partake in.” Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you drop your eyes. He’s teasing you, you know it but can’t help but feel a touch ashamed. 

“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know what was going on, I was afraid you’d been hurt.” He pats your hand in a gesture of reassurance. “I never thought I’d have to see you here, Saru.”

“I never intended to break my promise,” he says, “but physically I am— in good condition, despite the circumstances.” You nod.

“Physically, yes. Mentally…” You drop his hand and touch his cheek instead, a gesture that serves to lighten the depressing atmosphere. “I think you’re well on the mend.” He seems to appreciate that. 

“Yes, I think so, too.” He goes silent for a moment, content to watch you as you trace the line of his cheekbone. “You would have liked Pahvo. The din was deafening, but I imagine you would have found it quite beautiful.” 

The bitterness to his voice is not lost on you, but you respond all the same. 

“When the war is over—” you begin and he cuts you off.

“No, that is not what I meant. It would be unwise to return. Kelpien fear is stifling but it is the strongest advantage that I have. I dislike what a lack of it brings out in me.” You find yourself smiling again, genuinely this time and with a certain gentleness that puts him at ease.

“You should sleep, and I should go.” You say, pulling away. His response is to sit up, just slightly. His eyes widen a fraction.

“Am I free to go as well? As I said, I am fine physically.” You shake your head.

“Culber can discharge you but he’d probably have more than a few things to say to me if I did without his permission.” Your response doesn’t seem to sit well with him. 

“Then could I convince you to stay?” You didn’t expect that. Blinking, you nod. You rather assumed he would like to be alone with his thoughts. 

“As you wish,” you begin, “I still want you to sleep, though.” He anticipates this and lies back down. Your eyes dart playfully to the edge of the biobed. “Think there’s room for two?” you ask.

“I doubt that very much.” Saru replies. 

“Well, I’ll try it anyway.” You mutter as you stand, turning the right way and occupying the sliver of bed remaining. Saru makes space for you and his arms fold around you. 

His heart sounds just as erratic as it does when you kiss him, your cheek pressed to his chest. This is the closest you’ve ever been, you realize. A sense of dread washes over you when you remember that another doctor will definitely return at some point— and soon. What a time they’ll have, you think with a smile, trying to convince you to leave him. 


	3. Psyche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward breakdown of Kelpien biology between two people barely able to communicate about non-sexual, intimate topics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god help us all, this is awkward as fuck and there's no way around it. it's lots of made up bullshit about alien biology and mating practices. because someone had to ask, right?

You’ve never been to Paris, not even on holiday and certainly not on business that breaches “official”. Nevertheless, you feel it’s owed to you, this little dalliance on earth. You’ve fought a war and survived so much. You deserve to rest. 

As does Saru, a fine acting captain who becomes very uncomfortable when you tell him so. He’s first to reach for you this time, as the two of you pass by the base of the Eiffel Tower through the rain. You’re not a shocked by the gesture, and freely snake your arm around his. You walk, almost silently with an umbrella shared between you. The only noise is the rhythmic fall of his hooves. 

“Have you ever been here? Paris, I mean. I know I should be dazzled and yet—” the intensity of the urban structures keeps you from fully realizing the beauty of the city. Saru shakes his head.

“It’s my first time here as well. It’s pretty, I suppose.” He doesn’t say it out loud but there’s a touch to his tone that informs you he doesn’t find city life to be anything spectacular, either. You squeeze his arm. 

“We’ll be back up there soon, Captain.” Glancing upward at the stars, you are still able to find that same sheen over them in spite of the glittering of metropolitan lights. 

“Acting Captain.” He corrects and you shrug. 

“For now, but I think you have it in you for a more permanent position someday. Your speech was beautiful and— well, you got me home safe. You got everyone home safe.” Leaning against him, your upturned eyes move to his face. He appears flattered, but just as uneasy as ever with it. 

“We returned to our dimension safely as a crew, together.” He defends and you haven’t the heart to argue if he’s unwilling to accept your praise. 

“Yeah, we did, didn’t we? It’s why we’re all war heroes.” A smile touches your mouth. The two of you pass by staring Starfleet cadets but you don’t seem to notice. “You’ll be the first decorated Kelpien veteran the world has ever seen.” 

“Must you put all your energy into my embarrassment?” His voice doesn’t sound particularly hurt, your smile widens. At least Saru’s modesty is airtight and from a place of sincere discomfort. 

“All right, all right. I’m sorry. I won’t talk about medals of honour any more.” You say, he seems immediately more content.

“And don’t call me Captain.” He adds. You shrug.

“No promises.” Through the din of people racing by and the fall of rain on concrete, your laugh carries. 

* * *

Although the crew is only given a day of shore leave, at least accommodations are provided. The stark-gray of Federation-issued rooms isn’t exactly what you were hoping for, considering the presence of more idealistic, French hotels just down the street. 

The universe seems to take into consideration your disappointment. Almost as if a consolation, your quarters are only two doors down from Saru’s. He doesn’t expect a visit but you pay him one, anyway. 

It’s close to eleven at night, the ceremony happening earlier than you’d like it tomorrow. Clad in casual clothing, you breeze into his room after hearing a slightly confused _enter_ from the other side of the door.

“I assumed it was you,” he begins when he sees you. He’s still wearing his uniform, sitting on the edge of his bed. “But I half expected you’d be asleep by now.” minutely, you shake your head. 

“I wanted to see you.” You say. “It’s the first time I’ve felt properly— _safe_. At least for a while.” He seems to understand and puts down the PADD he’s holding. He motions for you to sit next to him and you waste no time in darting over. 

If he’s uncomfortable with how immediately close to him you are, Saru doesn’t make it known. Bumping your knee against his, you can’t help but smile again. 

“This is the first time since I’ve felt _happy_ in years, love.” You add. “Not just safe but _ready_ to continue on. I was so tired—” that he can agree with. Long ago he told you how deeply inoffensive it was to him that you could feel peace and he could not. Your earlier reservations on the subject have since disappeared. 

“I was, as well.” He says. Looking away from you for a moment, he seems to debate something.

“Saru— you really should kiss me.” You say after a moment of comfortable silence. He turns as if he was waiting for you to ask, dipping his head and pressing his lips to yours. 

A flush heats your cheeks and you can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. Of course it was slow going at first, even now touch is a difficult action for him to process. But he seems somewhat content with the idea presently, even if his hands remain at his sides. 

“Come on, touch me.” You encourage when the kiss is broken. True to his nature, Saru’s hands don’t budge. You look up at him, concern pressing just slightly behind your eyes. He tries to reassure you.

“Everything is fine,” he says, “it’s just a question of—” 

“Speed?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“Intention.” He finishes and you blink. 

“Saru, you know that I wouldn’t force anything.” You say. “I would love to do— _more_ — but if you would rather not then that’s fine.” He seems confused for a moment. 

“More?” He asks you.

“You know, _more_.” Your intonation doesn’t seem to give him any greater clues on its own. “Sex. I’d like to— with you, that is. But not if the want isn’t mutual.” The look on his face is one of shock and surprise rather than horror, at least. 

“It is impossible for Kelpiens to procreate with any race but their own.” He says it so matter of factly, as if that tells you his opinion on the subject.

“I beg your pardon?” You ask, a hint of exasperated humour in your voice.

“That is why you offered, isn’t it?” He tilts his head to the side, his expression repeating without saying that his statement is the natural response.

“No, no it isn’t, love—” you flounder for a moment, trying to repress a searing blush. Children, dear god. This shouldn’t be as embarrassing to you as it is.

“Then why else would you? I do care for you, more so than I initially expected and yet I agree that it seems sudden.” You make a noise similar to a sharply inhaled breath.

“Saru, have you ever had sex before?” You resist the urge to sigh when he shakes his head without even a touch of shame.

“My species does not view intercourse with the same— overzealous attitude that I am beginning to wonder if all humans do.” You nod after a moment.

“We fuck because it feels good, love. Children are fine but they’re usually not the prime objective.” He gives you a look that speaks of how undignified what you said is. Saru’s wound so tight it’s amazing he doesn’t snap from the pressure, and that only endears you.

“The pleasurable aspects are not completely unknown to me, reproduction is not an exclusively duty-bound task. But the issue of sexuality among my species is a difficult one—“ you bite your lip out of habit, even if Saru sounds more than willing to discuss it.

“You don’t have to say a word about it, of course.” You manage and he waves a hand.

“I trust you.” He says. “The Kelpien way of life is a hard one that most do not care to understand. At least you stay awake when I describe it.” You look momentarily appalled, disgusted that anyone might fall asleep when he’s speaking. His wry smile makes you relax, he’s joking.

“All right, but if it’s too much—” he nods again, silently promising he won’t tell more than he’s comfortable with.

“Kelpiens do not choose mates, to my knowledge, we never have. A frankly obscene amount of effort is instead put into exercising a very specific breeding program. Desirable traits are capitalized on, and undesirables are bred out.” Your shudder does not escape his hawklike gaze.

“I don’t like the—” you pause, attempting to gain your bearings. Your first instinct is touch, and you find yourself leaning against him. He puts his arm around your shoulder. “The breeding program thing, it’s so—” you make a face and Saru has his point made.

“Precisely. Its purpose is rooted in tradition, centred purely around survival. For lack of a better phrase, it's somewhat dehumanizing.” Wincing, Saru looks down at the look of discomfort on you face. “Would you like me to stop?” You shake your head.

“No, no. Not if you’d like to continue. I just want you to know that I never would have asked— you know— if I knew.” His patience seems to be perfectly intact. 

“How could you have possibly known?” His question appears rhetorical. “In every interspecies relationship, I suppose there is an element of surprise. I am just as unaware of human customs.” 

“We can learn from each other.” You say, Saru’s nod relieves some of the worry in your chest. 

“Absolutely. I came in contact with a few references to human sexuality when I was training at the academy, but even my knowledge is grounded in the abstract.” Resting your head against his arm, you put your hand on his knee. 

“I just can’t believe nobody tried to get in your pants.” Glancing up, you watch as that familiar distaste overtakes his expression. Nudging him, you smile. “Just joking, I’m sure lots of them tried.”

“My focus was only ever on my studies.” He defends. “And I must admit that my interest in human anatomy was stifled somewhat by the overwhelming fixation on it my peers seemed to have.” 

“Around college age is when our hormones are sort of at their peak.” You say, all traces of mockery gone from your voice. “Although it starts around twelve or thirteen.” 

“Ah. So you would be considered as past the prime?” His tone is so curious, no malice behind his words but you scoff all the same. 

“No, humans don’t really have a prime. At least not one that’s rigidly defined, it’s a personal thing. After the age of eighteen up until death, humans can be and are sexually active.” If Saru had eyebrows, you imagine that they would be raised.

“That sounds exhausting,” he begins. “but nevertheless fascinating. You know of my inexperience, but would it be very rude to ask about yours?” Your gaze deviates from his eyes, exploring the lines on the ceiling. 

“I have experience, love. Mostly with humans, you’re the first alien I’ve ever wanted to be with.” He seems pleased by that when you feel it’s safe to look at him again. As much as you were afraid of making him jealous, his interest seems rooted in understanding. 

“I’m flattered. You are as well— considering that humans are just as alien to me.” The awkward tension persists but it feels less cutting. 

“We’re pioneers, aren’t we? The first human and Kelpien _involved_ with each other.” He seems to consider it.

“Interesting, we very well could be.” He pauses. “You’re using the same tone as before. Does involvement denote—” your hand squeezes his knee.

“Involvement can mean whatever you’re comfortable with it meaning. If you’d like us to continue how we are now, that’s fine. If you’d like to try taking things a step further, that’s also fine.” He seems curious again, at the very least. He looks to you with an expression you haven’t seen before.

“I would like to be _involved_ with you, considering that you’re aware of the limitations of our coupling.” Looking down at your lap for a moment, you nod.

You nearly flinch when you feel his hand leave your shoulder. A second later and he’s braced two fingers under your chin. Gently, he pulls your gaze back up to his and that unfamiliar expression is still there. 

“Are you busy now?” You ask, half-joking. Instead of responding, he kisses you. You’ve more than gotten used to the way his lips feel on yours, and instinctively you wrap your arms around his neck. “Yes?” You ask as you break the kiss.

“Yes,” he replies. His voice seems to waver on the edge of hesitation. You tilt your head, pausing to give him time to reconsider. He doesn’t. “Now.”


	4. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An amorous exchange between two people who are Definitely Not in Love, Definitely Not. Featuring the smooth sounds of Claude Debussy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we’re all born naked, everything else is alien smut.

From stem to stern, you strut across his room. Who knew the ethereal could be so compliant with chaos? Saru is full of surprises, you have come to realize. Most of them have nothing to do with sex, but some do. 

“Where’s my combage?” You ask over your shoulder. Saru zips up the front of his uniform, looking every inch a captain of Star Fleet. You feel underdressed in comparison, not just in terms of attire but through to your very core. 

You’re no Cornwell, you remind yourself. Doctor is not so secure a job as admiral, but you’ll gladly exchange words with anyone who would like to take this away from you. 

Saru looks noticeably concerned for the state of your missing badge and smooths his hands down his torso as he begins to look. You abandon your search for the rest of your clothes. Dignity, despite all your worried ideas is printed in your DNA and you’re more than comfortable around him in your skin. 

“Perhaps by the sofa,” he offers up, his eyes widening as if in realization. The look of amusement on your face plays out like an orchestra as you watch his expression contort. Sweet, darling Saru. He’s not going to be able to look at his sofa for the next week, you just know it. Not without thinking of you, that is. 

“You look nice.” You say, as if seeing him in a new light. Saru straightens his long back, looking at you now instead of for the discarded combage. _He really is beautiful_ , you can’t help but think. You decide to spare him, failing to voice that thought. He looks shaken for a moment, grappling for an appropriate response. 

“As do you.” His voice is low, purposefully so but you catch his tone. 

“Cheeky.” Snickering, you cross the room again and kneel on the unmade bed. You watch him eye your naked front as you lie down on your stomach. Your legs kick up behind you and you place your hands under your chin. “You know what? Forget the combage.” You wink at him, motioning with your head for him join you. “I think I’ll stay here all day.” 

You can feel his disapproval before he voices it, clicking softly in something similar to mild distress. Rather than simply gesture again, you hold your hand out to him. Palm up, you motion with your finger for him to come closer. 

“Kiss me.” You say and without pausing a beat, Saru jumps to the defence.

“Really, I—” with a gentle tone, you cut him off.

“Kiss me, please?” Phrasing it like a question is always remarkably effective. You wait, watching him with comfortably happy eyes as he sighs and leans down. Bracing one knee on the bed, he turns his head to the side and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is chaste, soft and calculated. He’s strong, Saru knows it and you’re intimately aware of this. A certain element of care goes into your handling, something you find rather charming. 

“Again?” You ask and he seems to be in a giving mood. Over and over he kisses you, and your elbows propping you up quickly changes to your fully extended arm lifting you enough to meet his lips halfway.

Your other arm is positioned strategically, just below his neck. Your fingers tug on his collar, pulling it open from where he just zipped it. Saru’s hand covers yours and you still. Leaning in, you press a quick kiss to his cheek before he’s able to voice his complaint. 

“Is now really the time?” He asks. “Right after—” slowly, you shake your head. 

“We’ve talked about this, love,” you say, “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.” He nods after a moment. His threat ganglia stay firmly in his head, thank goodness. Sighing, you press your mouth to his cheek again. Slowly, he takes his hand away from yours that is still clinging to the collar of his uniform.

“No,” he says after a moment, “continue. We do have time.” You find yourself wondering if he can feel your smile against his jaw as kiss him. Saru feels compelled to reply when you speak, so you remain silent as you pull his collar away from his neck.

Your lips are where his revealed skin is without fail. Chasing the lines and folds and curves of his body, you explore and touch like a cartographer mapping. His body is charted territory, rediscovered by your hands. His do the same to your smooth skin. Saru likes your breasts, Kelpien women don’t have them. 

You like his chest, the way the harsh lines on his face are mirrored on his lengthy torso. His biology differs from yours just enough that no amount of light touching can raise goosebumps on him. Your mind is called away to an earlier tumble, where you stopped mid-exploration to ask him of his knowledge on goosebumps. He knew nothing at all, you educated. 

Education is a word that makes you squirm with slight discomfort. The thought of teaching Saru the inner workings of lovemaking is something you’re unsure of. Nevertheless, the phantasmagorical element of sex is relatively unknown to him. The reality of the situation very much grounds you in the role of teacher, regardless of if you like it. 

To your never ending delight, he is a _very_ quick study. 

“Do you want to be on top?” You ask, your voice a whisper against his collarbone. It curves like his cheek does, creating a hollow where your lips fit like they were sculpted for them. A blush heats your face and a similar heat lights up his whole body. Initially you mistook it for shame and have since come to understand that he is merely shy.

If you don’t ask, however, Saru could and likely would spend the entire romp in silence. That thought worries you. In light of this, gentle coaxing is what he seems to appreciate most. Questions, rather than more overt flirtations open him up. 

“Yes.” He says, his arms wrapped around your shoulders with his nose pressed into your hair. He kisses the top of your head. “I want to—” he cuts himself off and the skin under your mouth heats. 

“You don’t have to say it out loud,” your voice is muffled by your close proximity to his neck. Pulling back just slightly, you speak up so he can hear. “unless you want to get me excited.” The coquettish lilt to your voice cannot be helped. He seems to pick up on that. 

“How do I—?” You can sense his worry, the part of him that forbids him from doing without saying. Pushing yourself up to your knees, you pick his hands up from their place on your back and set them on your shoulders.

“Guide me,” you say, “if I get nervous, I’ll tell you.” Saru swallows and nods. His hands have a tendency to flutter, dart like hummingbirds around you as you work him towards a feverish experience. They seem no less nervous now as he pushes gently on your shoulders. 

Your back hits the bed, your shoulder blades cushioned by a pillow. Hair fanning out, you lift a brow at the extended look he gives you. Your instinct is to cover yourself, to hide from his gaze and it’s just barely repressed. Instead, you stretch your arms above you. Your hands frame your forehead and you watch him back. 

Those eyes, so strangely full of human emotion fall from your face to the hollow between your collarbones that poets are so fond of. He finds your breasts particularly fascinating, and his line of sight is almost enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. He doesn’t touch, not yet, but you can see the want in his expression.

On he continues, to the expanse of your torso that truly has no business being called an expanse when it’s in comparison to his. Your anatomy is void of the decorative, inset lines that vary from Kelpien to Kelpien. You’ve never met another, but you assure him all the same that his must be the most gorgeous. 

His fascination with your flat feet lasted a few minutes during that experimental first time. You reminded him as he kissed the inside of your knee that he was the only crew member with hooves. It was an attempt at a joke to distract from your all-consuming lust. It was erotic then and it is now as his hands move to part your legs.

Saru’s fingers trace up the curve of your inner thigh. Smiling, you close your legs tightly around his hand. He looks up at you in shock, but his ganglia do not emerge. 

“I’m playing with you, love.” You assure him, and it’s a moment before his own, nervous smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

You wink at him, tapping your lower lip expectantly. He’s accepted that as a human gesture after a thorough explanation provided to him. As wordless as you, he lowers his head and kisses you again.

“Thank you.” You sigh when he pulls away. Your thighs open. “Do you remember where to— _oh_ — yes you do.” As embarrassed as you are, the blush heating your cheeks is hardly due to a moan mid-sentence. You are about to ask Saru if he remembers where your clit is, and he takes it upon himself to remind you that _quick study_ is praise that you yourself have given him. It’s much earned. 

He touches you slowly with his index finger, rubbing shallow, languid circles that have your tows curling. With an audible sigh, you relax. It’s difficult to get him to do the same, to truly appreciate foreplay as much as the act. 

“Do you want to tell me now what you couldn’t say before?” You ask, arching your back minutely and pushing your hips up towards his hand. The effect he has on you seems more than desirable to him. 

“I could,” he begins, “but your fondness of surprises begets similar behaviour.” You know without looking at him that he’s trying to get a rise out of you. This is it, you realize. This is the closest to perfection you can find. 

“I didn’t want to dictate every move I made,” you defend, “and you seemed to have no complaints about the handjob.” He clicks again in disapproval, your crudeness a reliable way to fluster him. 

“It was in my ready room.” He asserts and your breathy giggle verges on a laugh. 

“Ah, memories—” your half-reminisicing is somewhat interrupted by Saru’s purposeful shift. He moves from kneeling between your legs to half-lying. You toss your head back. “Saru, just tell me—” 

He licks his lips, his hand moving to your inner thigh. He applies gentle pressure and you spread yourself an inch more. 

“Well, doctor,” he says, “you have tasted me.” Your moan is surprisingly sharp. 

“God, okay.” You turn your head as if to prepare yourself. “Computer, play Claire de Lune,” Saru’s tongue darts out, touches your folds and you bite back a whine, “ _loudly_.”

The violin sings and so do you, a symphony of rushed breaths and shuddering sighs. Saru likes your voice, you just know it. Your praise of his occasionally clumsy techniques encourages improvement and _goodness_ , he has improved. His tongue laps at you while his hands squeeze your thighs. 

You press your fingers to the back of his head, urging him on and playing a more active role. As dearly as Saru likes to care for you, guidance is just as close to his heart. You run your fingers over the slits where his ganglia hide and he lets you. 

The implications of that never really registered with you until he explained them. It was after a long night shift on the bridge, the three suns of some distant planet shining into your room. He lifted your hand, placed it on the back of his head. _Touching here_ , he told you as you explored, _is an act of trust_. You remember smiling then, as you smile now. 

There is a stirring in you separate from the heat of lust. Love touches your heart like an old friend who never visits. It’s been too long, you think. That sequestered emotion was not, is not for you to speak of. Why spoil something perfect? 

You read too much into his actions when you are in love with him, the way his lips part from your core and move instead to press hot kisses to your inner thigh. The way he slips a finger inside you with the greatest care not to apply too much pressure. 

Love muddies the waters, poisons the delicate landscape the two of you paint. 

You sigh his name when his mouth returns to you, and mumble something like _Captain_ just to hear him sputter. He’ll swear up and down that he hates it, and you’ll swear he adores it. The humour is necessary, it keeps you distracted and open for him. 

When you’re close, you tap the back of his head twice with your index finger. He doesn’t stop, in fact his pace borders instead on feverish. _Why would you want me to stop_ , he asked you once, _when you are close to finishing?_ The idea of denial is new to him and you have no strong desire to turn him into a tease. That’s your job. 

Your orgasm doesn’t shatter the foundations of the earth, it washes over you like a long-awaited wave. You sit on the shore and it overtakes, leaving you sighing Saru's name and clutching him to you. It’s everything in you not to clench your legs around his head, but the fear of worrying him is as ever-present as his must be. 

When you’ve quieted and his exploratory tongue again presses feather-light kisses to your knees and thighs, you lean up on an elbow. You watch him, adoring as he adores you. 

“Saru?” You ask and you seem to break the spell around his head. “Do you want to--?” Your verbal shorthand for sex in its proper fashion seems to resonate with him, he nods. 

“Please. Might you—” you nod before he can fully ask. You draw your legs up and sit. 

“Of course, lovely. Lie down.” He does so, and you’re rather glad this fuck won’t be in your room. Trying to fit six feet, eight inches of alien into your human-standard bed is an exercise in patience. His room is almost made for him, and he doesn’t mind boots on the sheets. 

Stripping Saru is an art form, it’s a question of how much and why in equal parts. You find yourself somewhat intimately aware of his finer workings and you can see the worry in his eyes when he’s as bare as you. He is shy, you remind yourself as you kneel at his side. He does not like to feel vulnerable. 

Your eyes stay on his as you open the front of his shirt a bit more, revealing to you that anatomy you find so deeply fascinating. Gorgeous, you think. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. 

The lines run parallel to each other, dipping over hollows and ribs on their journey down, down down. They disappear under the cut of his trousers. Stopping to admire him for a moment, you know it’s best not to leave him wanting. You lean over, hair falling into his face as you kiss him softly. He tastes like you and you moan into his mouth.

“That was—” you smile as you try to find the words to complete the thought, “ _very_ nice.” He nods in appreciation of your gratitude. Kissing the wide expanse of the bridge of his nose for good measure, you continue, “Can I take your pants off?” 

The bluntness of the question silences him for a moment, just a moment. He nods, and you give him another kiss. 

“I’ll be gentle, love. I promise.” He has no doubt about that, but he still stiffens when you move to the zipper. Saru hisses and clicks, little noises that are not sounds of worry but instead meant to encourage. 

You undo his pants, pull them down just enough that his hips and the tops of his thighs are exposed but no further. Your finger follows the curves of the very beautiful lines, and something between his legs stirs.

Kelpien biology is on a level so detatched from human you find the entire concept of it absurdly surreal. His genitalia, you were amused to find, are an internal aspect. You were half-confused, half-intrigued the very first time but have come to understand that just as the rest of Saru demands a gentle touch, his cock is no different. 

The presence of it is very, very different however. In function, you recall mentioning its similarity in colour, texture and mannerisms to his threat ganglia. If Saru could blush, for now you’re quite certain he cannot, he likely would have. 

Almost absent-mindedly, you touch him as he did you. Your hand encircles and takes him in a gentle grip, his reaction evident and immediate. He clicks, quickly and his once-still hands begin to shake. 

“Saru?” You find yourself asking again, recalling that a voice does wonders to ground him. He’s sensitive, far more sensitive than any human you’ve ever been with. “Love?” His unresponsiveness ends and he nods. His eyes are closed but slowly, they open. 

“Yes?” He replies. “What—” another clicking sound, a hum and a sigh. 

“Does it feel good? I don’t want to pressure you.” He shakes his head with a force you don’t expect.

“It does, it does,” he assures you, his restless hands finding something similar to the peace he gave you, “please, _please_ —” that’s more reassuring. Your sweet smile touches your mouth again at his insistence. 

Your strokes are well-timed and expert, working your hand from the remarkably thick base of his shaft to the narrower tip that seems to squirm with a mind of its own. Its internal position leaves it slick to the touch, but Saru rather sheepishly assured you that there was no danger in it. 

Lifting your knee, you straddle him. It took the two of you very little time to settle on this position. You suggested missionary as a first but he seemed uncertain of his own experience enough to conduct himself. The thought stressed him beyond what your heart could handle. You turned onto your hands and knees and that was almost the end of your lovemaking. He never told you the precise reason why, but fucking you from behind seemed to distress him deeply. 

With the traditional routes for your respective species exhausted, you proposed something new. A hybrid of the two, you assured him and told him to lie back. 

Picking up his hands, you place them on your waist. His cock strains up towards you, flicking against your entrance. It seems, the more you consider it, an outward expression of his wriggling anxiety. Constant anxiety, you remind yourself, that only rests very slightly when the head of him pushes inside you. 

You bite back a very loud moan as that squirming becomes very comfortable. Your eyes fall closed only for a moment before you remember that this is easily your favourite part. Saru’s face, his beautiful face takes on an expression close to tranquility when he’s inside you. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

Covering his hands on your hips with yours, you begin to move back against him. He watches you press down into him, one hand moving up your stomach to grip your right breast and squeeze it gently. 

His cock curls and stretches you, pulling moan after moan from you and a series of rapid clicks from his mouth. He was so afraid to hurt you, and very well might still be now. You fix him with a sultry look, he’s far from hurting you. 

You whisper to him every now and again, encouragement and singsong praise as the music swells around you and he swells within. That gorgeous pressure presses against the proper spots in a way that has you reeling. 

His hand around your breast morphs to one around your shoulder as you increase the languid pace. Confused for a moment, he seems more than ready to try something new. His hesitation is palpable, changing the air between you. 

“Do it,” you say, “whatever you want. Do it.” He grips your shoulder, pulls himself up with that impossible strength so your spread legs span the width of his lap. 

You don’t know who’s clinging to who as he lifts you, pushing inside you when you press your hips down to meet his. He hugs your around your waist, head tilted slightly back as you stroke his cheeks. Tracing the curve from his ear to his cheekbone, Saru lets out a shaky sigh. 

He watches you shiver and pulse again, cheeks coloured pink as you contract and come a second time. You arch your back, riding him through what you know will be your final orgasm for some time. Quick sex is a curious trinket to the both of you, something beautiful to be indulged in sparingly. Rarely have either of you the time for extended lovemaking like this.

Saru asks with his hands if you need him to stop, your human body now slack and undone. You shake your head, saying nothing as you trail your fingers down his neck. Truthfully, you have no idea when he’s close to coming. Even that differs from your perspective of normal. 

More often than not, his cock comes to a stuttering stop in you before it retracts. The suddenness of this was explained rather patiently to you with a matter-of-fact tone of voice that colours all of Saru’s biological discussion. The residue that slicks him _is_ his reproductive fluid, it simply does not compute with human anatomy. 

Nothing will come of your cross-love, you find yourself rather painfully thinking as Saru reaches his end. He stills inside you, twitching once before slowly retracting. He heaves a sigh that you mirror, lying back down and holding you on top of him. 

Incompatible, you muse. The two of you are biologically incompatible. You trace the lines of his chest and look up at him. He watches you as your heart slows. 

You’re an idiot, you realize. You’re an idiot in love thinking nothing will come of this.


	5. Wondering, Fearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short time travel back to the first real romantic conversation referenced in chapter one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this so much but!!! ta da!!! the long-awaited saru-pov chapter.

There’s no accounting for the gaps in his memory, the oddly-shaped holes embraced by vivid sensations leave him feeling somewhat incomplete. He supposes that he should be grateful for what he does remember, for there are plenty of fond recollections to be had. None pack the same punch, however, as things he thought he’d have kept with him for years. 

It’s annoying, nearly, the fact that he forgets the faces of his friends. He used to smile, once, often and laugh to forget the fear. Impossible tasks seemed probable, then, isolated instances where the blooming panic was not so bright. 

And then there are the in-between moments, ones with so much clarity that they make his eyes sting when he recalls them. The sensation of bumping one’s head on a low-carved part of the cave, dipping your fingers in ash and drawing something like a monster on a flat piece of rock. The sound of a gleaming, metal bird touching down after a hasty escape. 

A Star Fleet uniform might has well have been a straightjacket, the fabric uncomfortably light and difficult to move it. He couldn’t breathe for ages, but he learns. He learns a lot of things.

* * *

 

Saru is a proud individual by nature, pride in his work and pride in his ability to think beyond the numbing sensation in the pit of his stomach. He keeps his crew safe, the job is never done. 

You deal with the fallout of a lack of safety. Plagues meet their end under your watchful eye, tiny germs wriggle in fear. Bruises and bumps, scrapes and scratches have a short life in your sickbay. Lacerations down a shoulder are stitched up with a loving grace. 

It’s true, you do love everybody. If you don’t, you could fool him with your fondness and tendency to remember names.You touch everyone and everything with that same, delicate respect. Fearless, you never hesitate in the name of crew-wide safety. 

The way you smile at him, as if he’s something to be awed by turns him inside out. There’s a tendency to flinch with that spark in your eye, an insistence within him that he turn away or be blinded by a solar flare. You have heat and ash and rising calm in your voice when you say his name.

Your tendency towards flirtation, towards grabbing the hand of your friend and repeating their name leaves him confused when the two of you stand alone in sickbay. 

If he has to guess about why he’s here ---his feet carried him, but Saru isn’t certain either way--- he would say company. The bridge is silent, cold and abandoned for a crew-wide party. Wild horses would have had to eat him first, but your absence from it is a legitimate surprise. 

“What are you talking about?” you say when he asks, catching him off guard. His instinct is to repeat yourself but you cut him off with that blinding look, your smile is beautiful. “There’s nothing more fun than an evening of cataloguing bacteria.” 

“Most humans would disagree,” he returns. You shrug. 

“I’d rather be curled up with a good book, but at least the company’s good.” you say it so casually, almost carelessly. You’re free with your compliments, building him up like few ever have. 

“What do you read?” he asks before he can stop himself, unsure if he’s fully equipped for this range of conversation. You have a tendency to appear familiar with everyone but Saru is hesitant to take the next step. True familiarity is as foreign a concept as the uniform he put on so many years ago. 

“Everything I can get my hands on. When I was little I’d just eat books.” his eyes flit towards yours, filled with unfiltered wonder. You wink and his insides emulsify, his stomach into the rest of his organs. “Paper ones, yeah.”

“That is--- amazing, I---” you cock your head to the side. “I have never seen a book, not one printed and bound.” you lift an eyebrow. 

“You’re kidding, right?” he shakes his head. “I used to love picture books, ones where you had to find little images in seas of coloured chaos. Do---” you pause as if you’re almost embarrassed. Saru doesn’t know why you should be. “Kelpiens, how do they---”

“Read?” he finishes, you nod. 

“There’s a lot I don’t know---” he waves his hand, a delicate gesture that’s almost second nature to him. It seems to transcend the boundaries of your respecting understandings of language. _It’s quite all right_ , he says without saying. 

“Reading is not what I would use to describe what Kelpiens do. We have an impressive oral tradition that is occasionally translated in part in the form of wall murals. Some symbols exist but our language is almost wholly pictorial.” he doesn’t know how to feel about the amazement in your eyes that mirrors how his looked. Your brilliant gaze catches his but doesn’t seem to see him, as if you’re picturing the rocky faces of Kelpia now. It warms him in an unfamiliar way. 

“That sounds so beautiful, can you show me some of these symbols?” you stand, then, pushing away from your desk and grabbing the PADD that sits at your side. Sidling up next to him, you hand him the tech with a blank screen. 

“I---” he tries and your face immediately contorts.

“Oh, oh dear. Do you draw these illustrations with your hands?” your sudden fear is disarming to him, a subtle reminder of the facets of your being. You are strong and you are afraid, he nearly envies that. 

“We do.” he says, reassurance in his voice that seems to work better than he would’ve anticipated. Saru would not easily describe himself as one giving peace so much as he is one keeping it. Your shoulders relax and you pick up his hand, almost without thinking.

“Would you show me, please?” the interest in your eyes nearly outweighs the warm sensation of your hand on his. His previously fragmented guts return to their proper order for the sole purpose of dropping. 

“I suppose I could---” but his eyes are still on your hand, the way the pads of your fingers cover his with a light grip. You catch him staring and drop your hand, his insides cry out in protest but his disappointment does not reach his eyes. 

He’s afraid, he realizes. He’s afraid that something as dangerous as touch might be achievable in this new life he’s built for himself. He rejects your praise of him outwardly, resists your attempts to touch him because why should he be allowed to have it? He is not exempt from the thrum of fear behind his ears, fondness is fear-inducing, he knows this. 

Aware that you are watching, waiting on him with boundless grace, Saru presses his finger to the PADD. With long-fortten deftness he recalls the symbol for star before he knows just what he is creating. Stars, a rare sight. Several generations of Kelpien have lived and died without ever seeing the night sky. Saru is the first to travel them. He drops his hand to his side when he’s finished. 

He tells you what it means and your eyes widen. Looking down, you cock your head gently to the side. Nodding, you look up at him with a smile. 

“I can kind of see it? I’m not a linguist, but the pointy ends look a bit like--- yeah. Very beautiful, anything else?” if it were anybody besides you, Saru supposes he would feel that pang of annoyance in him. Instead, your interest sparks his own.

He shows you the symbol for grass, flower, tree. For sunlight and moonlight and male and female. In the back of his mind, he remembers the sigh for danger, predator, fear. He looks down at you, at your wonder at all the beautiful pictures his language could bring forward and he pushes the idea of showing you something evil to the back of his mind. You straighten all of a sudden and he does, too. 

“I should show you my collection, just to say thank you.” you say, looking for all the world like you just got the most brilliant idea. “You’re a very good friend to me, commander. It’s only fair. 

_A very good friend_ , he repeats to himself and his chest tightens a little bit. Saru flinches when he finds his hand suddenly seized. The suddenness of the action borders on too intimate for his liking, but he doesn’t pull away. _Far too intimate for friends_ , he thinks and wonders when his internal monologue became so bitter. 

“Where are you taking me?” he asks as you pull him from sickbay, the PADD still clutched at your side. The halls are blissfully empty, but you seem uncharacteristically excited. 

“My quarters. I think you’ll be surprised.” he can’t see your face but can nearly hear the glint in your eyes. You mentioned paper books before, about having them on earth--- _collection_? Suddenly he’s no longer being dragged. Holding your hand and walking down the hallway, Saru could not repress his own interest if he tried. 

The door opens with a familiar hissing sound, the lights coming up in a soft glow that you’ve likely customized. Your space looks so lived-in, warm and inviting despite the harsh tones.

Immediately, Saru realizes why he’s been summoned here. Your bookshelf sits almost unassumingly, six paper-wrapped treasures on the shelves. Instinctively, Saru takes a step towards it and your giggle stays his hand.

“I could lend you something, if you’d like.” you say as if it’s nothing.

“Why would you do that?” he counters without really realizing the gravity of the question until confusion invades your eyes.

“I like you,” you say, and the hand that had dropped his is suddenly brushing the back of his again. You sigh. “very much. Perhaps more than is appropriate.” 

He watches you become the bringer of your own embarrassment as your cheeks flush. If he could blush--- Saru doesn’t like to think of what colour he might turn. But this is different than a declaration of friendship, despite being so hot on the heels of one. This feels like a confession, something like--- _oh, dear_. 

“Oh.” he says out loud, feeling just as much like a fool for parroting his thoughts. “That is--- not exactly what I expected you to say.” your eyes and hand drop from his.

“I never know what to say around you, commander---” you sigh and he wishes that he had more experience with this sort of thing. If he’s reading the situation correctly, and he certainly hopes he is, you’re _fond_ of him. “I feel like an idiot.”

“There isn’t any need to.” he says, an auto-feature of his own desire to bring you some semblance of security. Awkward situations, he’s had his fair share of those but a part of him does not want you to leave this feeling as if you’ve done something wrong. As if your feelings are not reciprocated in any way.

“Pardon?” you ask, looking up. Looking hopeful, he realizes and he is all at once very glad he didn’t crush that in you. 

“I---” a pause, an extended pause. Your face starts to fall and it springs him to action. “You may call me Saru.” he says, his words nearly tripping over each other. He can have this, he’s allowed to have this. Lifting one, lengthy arm he places it on your shoulder. 

“Saru,” you mimic, as if only saying his name for the first time. You test it and find nothing wanting, your slight smile is so very beautiful. “I will if you’ll return the favour.” he nods. “So do you---” the leading question is cut short by his uncomfortable expression.

“I am not wholly opposed to the idea of informality, the exact reason for that is currently---” his expression shifts from discomfort to something like genuine confusion. “unknown.” you nod in turn.

“I understand, things like this are--- difficult.” looking down at his hand again, you glance back up before moving. “Do you like it when I touch you? Is it okay?” 

“It is, in every sense of the phrase, a new sensation.” he replies. You still look as if you’re waiting. “I don’t dislike it. You may touch me.” with a newfound zeal in your smile, you pick his hand up again. 

He looks at your bookshelf on which sits a few treasures he would like very much to borrow. His eyes then turn to you, the keeper of so many new and wonderful options for him. He stands there doubting but dreaming, as no Kelpien ever has before.


	6. Dearly Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more smut because i have no self control literally at all.

Just once, you’d like some sunshine. Star Fleet never really discusses this desperation in lectures, barely mentions it in textbooks. You can’t help but turn your mind to shore leave, terrible as that might seem. You want to watch the sky blaze red and pink at three in the morning, you want to see the slow waltz of night and day. 

You want to wake up to rays of light falling on his skin, but you suppose that your bedside lamp will have to do. Arching your back, you push your chest against his side and wait for Saru to join you in consciousness. 

_What time is it?_ you wonder. With irregular hours and the absence of proper daytime cycles, it’s hard to tell. A glance out the window does nothing, unless it happens to be alien-planet-o’clock. You turn your head, your cheek resting against his bicep. 

You could go back to sleep again, let yourself fall into that dark place. Until, of course, your combadge chimed and some strange crew member was sent to collect you. That almost brings a smile to your face, an outsiders reaction to your occupied bed. 

_The no-vacancy sign is not exactly open to the public_ , you remind yourself. It’s true, while funny to think about it would be devastating if anyone found out about your dalliances with Saru. 

“Love,” you say, pressing your lips quickly to his bicep. “it’s time to wake up now.” it’s rare that you get to watch him sleep. He functions without it for extended periods, more than enough hours awake to make most human crew members uncomfortable. You were honestly surprised to find he does not sleep with his eyes open. 

There’s a noise, similar to a questioning hum before his eyes open and he stiffens. 

“It’s just me, Saru.” you mumble, resting your forehead against him. “I don’t want to move, either.” he clicks this time, an admonishing sound before rising as if your sentiments aren’t shared. You know they are. He doesn’t like idleness but you are very persuasive. 

“Good---” he pushes himself up to sit and glances over his shoulder. Your clock reads eleven at night. “night.” he finishes. Your laugh is like a chime. He looks down at you with something like fondness as you curl around him like a snake. You kiss his fingers, his hand and start up his arm. 

“That’s tragic,” you say, lifting yourself up onto your elbow. Your hair falls into your eyes. “but it’s not like I could tell. I think I’ll pretend it’s six o’clock.” you take a deep breath in, closing your eyes. 

“Would you like breakfast, then?” he asks and you find your languid tendencies somewhat shameful in that moment. You sit up next to him. 

“Just tea, love.” you say, leaning up and kissing his jaw. He’s nowhere near as difficult to kiss when seated, but it isn’t the greatest equalizer. You physically can’t reach his cheek. 

He rises like it’s nothing, towered over you and walking towards the replicator. His footfalls are sluggish, however, he’s usually silent. Instead, his hooves make small thumping noises on the carpet. You resist the urge to lie down again and directly combat it by pushing the blanket down. 

His voice is welcome and sleep-roughened, giving the order for his usual and yours. The replicator attached to your wall chirps and his casual glance at you turns quickly to a double-take. You smile at him, refusing to cover yourself despite your flaring modesty. 

“Now, what you’ve done is create deadly poison.” you say, nodding towards his mug of green tea and salt as it appears. He seems momentarily perplexed.

“Kelpien kidneys are specially designed for complex processing.” he says and you nod. “I had no idea---” he looks down at his cup, almost in distress.

“No, love, I’m mostly kidding. I’d have to drink much more than a cup of that to have any serious impact. I would describe human biology as delicate but in comparison---”

He cuts you off, “In that respect, perhaps. But we are not without our deficits.” you nod again, all too familiar with what those are. He has weak points, physically and mentally as all races do. You’ve touched the soft parts he’s let you near with very careful hands

You sit on the edge of the bed, blanket pulled around your shoulders and he soon occupies the space just next to you. Your knee bumps his on purpose, you smile.

Saru places a mug into your hands, filled to the near rim with earl grey. You blow on the surface to cool it before drinking.

This is nice, better than nice. Your room is warm and even if you tried you couldn’t shiver. Exposed flesh is not the new normal, but you enjoy the decline of composure as much as the next person. He, for a change, is half as naked as you are.

“I had a boyfriend at the academy who would light up a cigarette the second he was done. Then he was out like a light,” you say. If Saru could bristle, you imagine he would. “I like this better.

“He sounds rude.” Saru comments. You knee touches his again.

“He was.” you confirm. “This is better for me, anyway. I wouldn’t mind this becoming a habit.”

Saru looks lost for a moment, staring off into the middle distance. He gets like this, doesn’t know how to vent just yet in a way that’s both healthy and somewhat inclusive. You dislike the idea of him thinking he is alone.

You breach his personal space in a more concrete way, setting your tea on your nightstand and hooking your arms around him. One braces across the thin expanse of his shoulders while your other hand presses flat to his collarbone. You kiss his jaw again, leaning up to reach.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, gentle-voiced and the opposite of accusatory. He moves to answer but says nothing. You drop your head, pressing your lips instead to the lines of his neck and shoulder. “Are you tired?” 

He shakes his head, at least it’s something. 

“Nothing is wrong,” he says, that eases a little of your building worry. “Perhaps I am a bit tired.” you cock your head to the side but decide to let the topic rest as he evidently wants it to. You press a kiss to his neck, to his shoulder. 

“I’m going to spend all of today in a research lab, at least I don’t have to be seen on the bridge.” your sympathy does not seem wholly unwelcome. “You work hard, love.” 

“As do you,” he says, sipping on his tea with a delicate frailty that speaks volumes of how much he doesn’t want to spill it on you. You untangle yourself from him. “but if your research does not eat too much into the morning, perhaps you and I could---” your eyes widen just a bit, almost tempted to ask him to elaborate. 

“Get breakfast?” you ask. He nods. 

“Yes, and---” he seems unwilling to elaborate, your laugh bubbles over again. 

“You don’t have to say it. I think I can free up a bit of time for morning sex.” he exhales in a way that speaks of his displeasure with your candidness. He’s easy to fluster but even easier to give into temptation. You like that about him. “What? Did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” he says, “you interpret my intentions correctly, although in a particularly human way.” 

“A classless way?” he drains his mug before nodding. Another peal of laughter echoes around you. You take his mug from him and place it next to yours. Placing your hand on his knee now instead of knocking it, you tug just a bit. “We have time now.” 

“We most certainly haven’t.” he says in response. Pressing your shoulder against his as if to change in his mind, you slip your hand down to his thigh. 

“I can be quick. It’ll help wake you up.” he stiffens, but not out of fear. “But you can say no.” you counter. You know the look he had in his eye, he’s worrying about something and yet refuses to tell you. You half expect him to shrug you off, truly you couldn’t blame him for it, but he surprises you.

“What did you have in mind?” your smirk is unparalleled. Slipping the blanket off your shoulders, you stand up from the bed. Your time upright is brief before you’re again sinking to your knees in front of him

You put your hands on his knees again, coaxing them apart and watching his face for the telltale surprise. It isn’t as if this is the first time, but your willingness to repeat it surprises him somewhat. You’re quick with your affections, parroting the way he kisses your thighs. 

“Tell me to stop if it gets to be too much.” you say, waiting for the nod of understanding that’s slightly delayed by his distraction. You fumble with the hem of his pants and Saru is all too willing to help you get them down. 

Pressing your lips between his thighs, the reaction is instantaneous. If you had hours, you would use them but instead you have fifteen minutes. You use your tongue, your hands stay braced on his spread thighs. 

* * *

 

He thinks more than you will ever know, thoughts tumble around him in a sheet of rain and ice. Try as he might, most can’t be formed into sentences. He’s unable to speak about the worry he feels, the constant anxiety that presses into him like the dull edge of a knife that doesn’t know it can’t do harm. He’s worried for the day that you’ll grow bored, it’s surely the same day the knife will turn and the sharp side will press into his chest instead. 

The sight of you, looking down on you is medicine for an untreatable paranoia. It reminds him that there is infinitely fits inside infinity for a reason, that he will never know every experience but to fear them all is foolishness. At least half the things, people, feelings, dreams he’s never touched, met, felt or dreamt are very, very beautiful. 

You are very, very beautiful. The way your tongue darts out and tastes him, coaxes at his anatomy to reveal their secrets is something undeniably special. 

“Please.” he says, his voice sounds more asleep now with the desperate edge it carries. You press your tongue inside of him, feeling and touching instead of simply waiting. 

No amount of logical thought or blind sentiment can describe the way you make him feel. He could chalk it up to the way his synapses fire, he could coat it in beautiful words from leather-bound books. His eyes flutter closed and even the darkness is brightened. 

“Saru?” he hears your voice, feels your mouth leave him momentarily. You check every so often when his face contorts into an unreadable expression. 

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he hasn’t found a way to make pleasure appear as attractive on his face the way you have. If he did, he imagines you’d shake your head and say you find it attractive anyway. 

“Please, more,” he stumbles out. The look in your eyes is teasing but there isn’t any time to follow through on it. He is both annoyed and pleased with that. He likes the way you tease, the attention you lavish on him. But there’s heat in his chest that he wants gone, desire he wants sated. 

* * *

 

He asks for more and who are you to deny him? You’re hungry for something, quietly so and not about to blab about it. You want him to feel wonderful, and you want to be the one to do it to him. 

Saru tastes like salt, slick to the touch and about as alien as the rest of him. You’d be a filthy liar if you said you disliked it. You drag your tongue up the slit between his thighs, waiting for the other part of him to slide out.

It doesn’t take long, evidently he’s conscious of the time. You wrap your mouth around him without a second thought, your lashes brushing your cheeks as your eyes close. You tighten your grip around his thighs when you feel him shake. He’s fine, you know from experience, but firmness is close to godliness with him. You’re just as careful with this exploratory sensuality, conscious of the weight of him in your mouth. 

He clicks above you, a rhythmic and hurried noise that has you wishing there was time for him to take care of you after this. You chose this, you remind yourself, because you love him and you want to make him happy. 

The topic of love still goes untouched. Your own terror of the word has yet to enter any serious conversation but you’re almost certain he would find your company less relaxing. That’s the point of this, isn’t it? Relaxation? You just happen to be human, sweet and foolish and too easily attached to things. 

You feel him shudder and his idle hands spring to the back of your head. He presses down, encouraging you to take more of him in your mouth. That’s fine with you, he can exercise all of the control he wants. The reality of the situation is that he barely fits, and the way his cock wriggles takes more than a little getting used to.

The adjustment to the weight pressing against your head is gradual but thoroughly pleasant. You like when he comes out of his shell, literally and figuratively. He combs his fingers through your hair, pressing warm fingers to the back of your neck before they return to your forehead. The repetitive motion matches your pace.

His hips don’t need to thrust, his cock squirms in your mouth with increasing intensity. The control is equally balanced, your hands holding his legs apart while his grip on the back of your head tightens. Your slow rhythm is short-lived in the face of a lack of time. Hollowing your cheeks to spur him along, you’re aware that you have no way of knowing when he’s close

A hand grips your hair tightly and nearly pulls and that, you realize, is your sign. He comes with a shuddering gasp, nearly doubling over. Saru leans over you, gasping as you take your mouth off him. You turn your gaze upwards, eyes opening and realize that he is finally at the perfect height for kissing. 

You do, inviting him to taste himself on your lips. His gasp makes your bones shake. 

“How was that?” you ask, unable to restrain your worry that he might not have enjoyed himself. His fingers are still tangled in your hair and he shows no sign of wanting to change that. 

“I liked it,” he says, “very much. Thank you.” you smile, leaning your head against the inside of his thigh. 

“We should get ready, love.” you say. Neither of you moves.


	7. Just Bells

There’s a border at the open-minded end of your brain, the side of you that interprets small gestures as loving. You have been wrong, so wrong before. 

In the beginning you could count the day-long spaces between seeing him, you couldn’t pinpoint the moment your joke translated right and made him smile. 

A thread has been sewing its way between you, wrapping around ribs and muscle and sinew. Around arteries and fingers and the collective adoration of time spent together. It’s attached to one half of your body and one half of his. Now the world pulls at it, pulls you closer to him. 

You can still imagine a day without his eyes, but you would rather not.

One good cry and a much-needed shower later and you have your answer to the question of why your heart is whirring like a table saw. This is love.

It’s an ugly friend you didn’t invite to the party, something the cat dragged in to thank you. You don’t feel thanked. Love has a way of turning your pulse to a stranger, a racing marvel of science. You feel different, you wonder if people notice. 

Hour after hour in sickbay, quiet words exchanged with Culber pushes you closer to the brink of exhaustion. How on earth are people supposed to do this? To keep in what’s pressing against your teeth. You can’t tell Culber, that doesn’t make any sense at all. You can’t tell Saru.

_Good god, you can’t tell Saru_. 

You can imagine the look that would cross his face, the confusion on his part. It wouldn’t even terrify him, that’s the least of your problems. You’d bother him. Feelings and messy things like it have no place off earth, have no place here when all he wants to do is have someone to accompany him. That’s all this is. 

You’d yell it at him in a second, in a fraction of a second if there wasn’t the possibility that you’d have to start counting full days between seeing him again. He could walk, he could hurt you and you would have to keep moving. Having a secret pains you less than that. 

* * *

 

Saru is particular about cleanliness. He washes his hands as often as he has access to water. His sparse room is immaculate as a form of iron-fisted control, he doesn’t get much in the way of it otherwise. 

Perhaps that’s the thing most human about him, the desire to change and impact the world around him. He does what he can to keep the scattered pieces of his new life tangled in something resembling a lifeline. 

A messy room means maybe his will’s not all that free. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your name out of conversations to calls home. He doesn’t like that he wonders what your mother would think of him.

Saru is fully aware what his mother would have to say about you, she’d be suspicious. And then you’d say something sweet, something clever and funny and Yan would never want anyone else for her son.

If only the feelings were even partially mutual. Your flirtatious nature keeps him in the dark about more things than he can count. He’s accepted that you’re monogamous, despite the human tendency to be born with wandering eyes. The exact why of your choice of him as mate baffles him beyond words. 

Humans feel love, he’s seen it. A small part of him wants it and wants it with you. A much larger part, the side that embraces all things logical dismisses it as blind optimism. 

Saru does what he needs to keep himself safe, to pursue what feels right. He’s pursued this, ran further with it than he thought the two of you would ever get. Stretches of time spent without you are uncomfortably quiet. You’ve acquainted him with his old loneliness. 

To ask for anything more than what you’ve graciously given would be to risk becoming friends again with that familiar ache of isolation. Now that he’s aware of it, now that he knows the reason why his chest would tighten on the spans of shore-leave, he doubts he could stand it. 

Well, he likely could but it’s a pain that could be avoided. The pursuit of safety and the avoidance of pain is a very Kelpien worldview, a brand of pessimism that surely did not get him accepted into Starfleet. 

But you’re hardly an academy, even if you are a way to fill time with meaning. That’s what stays his hand, reigns in his own idealism. Without you, his time will surely go to waste, he wouldn’t like to spend it in any other fashion. 

* * *

 

“Oh! We could go bird watching.” you offer up at lunch. The desire to keep your so-called friendship with Saru a complete secret fades more every day. You like him, it isn’t that difficult for other people to understand. 

“Bird watching?” he asks, sounding hardly opposed to the idea. You snatch a blueberry from the bowl of them and nod. 

“Yeah, there’s hundreds of species of birds on earth and humans like to watch them. I used to do it with my father.” he inclines his head in a way that makes you smile, looking just a touch like a quizzical beagle. 

“That sounds admittedly more relaxing than the--- _cliff diving_.” he drops his voice a touch and it makes your smile widen. He looks down at the map you were showing him, pointing out the high ridges and deep swimming holes.

“Not a fan of that idea?” you ask him and he quickly nods his head. 

“Fine, we don’t have to go cliff diving. I wonder if there’s a horse that’s tall enough for your legs, though.” you look back down at the map and point out roughly where your family home is.

Discussion of shore-leave in the abstract sense has become consistently less abstract with the approaching promise of time spent at home. Much to your surprise, Saru agreed to spend half of the week away from the Discovery with you on earth. 

The other half, the half that significantly scares you more will be spent on Kelpia. His complete lack of suggestions for what he intends to do with you there put you off, this is your attempt to get that discussion sparked. 

“Horses?” he asks again. He reaches for the blueberries, looking worried.

“Horses, like horseback riding. They’re these big, four-legged creatures---” Saru cuts you off with a wave of his hand and a smile of his own.

“I know what horses look like in the theoretical sense, but I have yet to see one physically.” your grin widens just a touch.

“Well, I can’t wait to show you. Your proportions are a bit--- well, you’re a Kelpien so I doubt you’ll be able to ride one but we can walk. Or drive.” you watch him trace a finger down one of the rivers, looking almost thoughtful. 

“And your family, you’ve told them?” you nod like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I haven’t disclosed _certain_ information,” he stops you with a look, demanding clarification for your stress on the word certain. You wink at him, putting to use that Kelpien sign language you’ve been studying after hours. _Lovers_ , you sign. A look of thinly-veiled surprise crosses his face. 

“I see,” he says. You reach out to him, brushing your fingers across the back of his hand. 

“We can tell them if we decide to, though. When we’re there.” he looks ever so slightly confused. “I didn’t want to make you feel nervous, like there was some expectation.” your voice drops to just above a whisper and you hope the rumour mill is closed today. Tilly, bless her heart has big ears and loose lips. 

“If you would rather they not---” Saru’s voice drops as well, lower even than yours. He looks at your hand covering his, and rather than pull away he turns it. His palm touches yours. 

“I want them to know.” you whisper, nothing on earth could make your smile fade. “I’m not ashamed of you, Saru.” that look of confusion returns, but it’s laced with something else, something you can’t pin.

“Nor I of you.” he says. His smile is so beautiful, you could look at it for hours. Instead, you have seconds as his falls rather quickly. You pull your hand away from his and he does the same. A quick glance around shows no wandering eyes from any of your crew-mates. 

“So we’ll go bird watching.” you say, a statement left open-ended should he desire not to. He nods.

“Yes, bird watching. I’m not opposed to swimming either, only the part that involves leaps of faith.” you giggle, a soft and warm noise. 

“That’s fine, I can work with that.” you drop your eyes back to the blueberries and take another three from the bowl as you attempt to shift the conversation. “What can I expect from Kelpia? Not that you have to keep me constantly entertained.” 

“Oh,” he begins, sounding just on the edge of flustered. “I have yet to give it much thought.” from the tone of his voice you can tell he isn’t being fully truthful. “There is very little in the way of human-esque entertainment, I worry that you might be disappointed.”

“Disappointed? You have to be kidding me.” you spare another glance around the room, a tell-tale sign that what your about to say is for his ears only. “How could I be disappointed with you?” your brilliant smile seems to creep into him, lighting up his eyes. 

“There is a small element of danger to visiting, and the geography is very different to earth’s---” he trails off, as if trying to process the implications of what you said. A weight settles in your stomach. 

“I’ll adore it.” you say, with a note of near-melancholy in your voice. There is a sureness that even he cannot dispute. “I just know it.” 

“I---” he seems to realize the limitations of his own vocabulary. “I do hope so.” he finally decides. “My family is interested in meeting you.” and again he seems thrown by the force behind your smile, the sheer joy you share with them despite never having seen them. 

“I am, too. It’ll take me years to learn all your sisters’ names, I’m afraid. But I can’t wait to get to know them.” you look down at your lap for a moment, a gesture betraying your anxiety. “I think a lot about if they’ll like me, but I know for a fact my parents will approve of you.”

“As will mine, you needn’t worry.” his tone provides tangible comfort for you. “I also think enough about your family’s reaction to me. I think we both know them better than our anxiety does.”

“Yes, you’re exactly right.” you admit. It’s so easy to fall into that fear, that complete surety that only dreadful things will come to pass. You can’t possibly know what will happen on his planet, nor on yours but regardless you sincerely doubt his opinion of you will change. You know that yours won’t. 

“In answer to your question, I could show you the murals my family has painted. My father will insist on telling stories.” you prop your chin on your hand, looking delighted. 

“He’d better, I’ve heard great things from you.” Saru nods, his claims are backed by personal belief and objective truthfulness. There isn’t a soul on his planet who can regale like Jun.

“Indeed. And my mother will likely have endless questions.” you’re excited for all of his family, excited to see the land that watched him grow. But most of all, you suppose, you’re excited to meet the woman who has made him into who he is. That adventurous spirit he’s got, if it comes from anywhere genetic, lies in her. 

“I’m excited.” you tell him, the tone of your voice shifting to something with an unspoken meaning. You are so _very_ excited to see his home. His fears, for he has many, are only partially reflected in yours. You want to go with him, despite his insistence it might be dull for you.

“I am, too.” he admits. His hand reaches out to you, across the table. He brushes your knuckles with his thumb before glancing over at the clock. “They will be expecting me on the bridge in just a few minutes.” he says. He waits until you’ve spoken before rising to leave. 

“And I should get back to sickbay. We’re noticing unusual growth patterns in the white blood cell count in a cadet from engineering.” he nods and the two of you stand. 

Disposing of the uneaten blueberries and the bowl that contained them, you dodge tables and bodies on your way out of the cafeteria. 

You exit together and stand outside for just a moment. With a smile and a wave, you turn and walk down hall in the opposite direction from the route he takes.

The string that connects you shouts in protest, something in your heart desperately wanting to follow wherever he may go. But after the initial departure, the wrongness of it lessens. The string loosens its grip just a bit, and does not snap.


End file.
